


the lake

by downmoon



Series: a lifetime [9]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Injury, M/M, The Zora - Freeform, and finally that romance, plus a few minor ocs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 10:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14692019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downmoon/pseuds/downmoon
Summary: It is a long journey to the Zora's Domain.





	the lake

**Author's Note:**

> 500 years later and this is finally ready to post!
> 
> thank you again to [ollie](caecia.tumblr.com) for the incredible artwork in this piece!

Ice in his veins. Air clogged in his throat, caught in the hot swirl of his lungs. He claws at cold darkness, seeking freedom, escape, life–

-nothing.

He wakes up with his heart pounding in his ears, breaths coming short and quick. Opening his eyes is a challenge, but when he manages to fight off the last tendrils of sleep that cling to him like vines, he’s staring into the dying embers of a fire. There’s a voice calling to him, some far-off echo he can’t quite make sense of, can’t grasp, thoughts jumbled, fuzzy–

“Sheik.”

Like a gasp of cold air, his mind snaps into clarity. The panic and confusion departs from him in wisps, leaving traces on his thundering heart, the clammy touch of his sweaty skin. He struggles to sit up, his arms feel weak and shaky, but he manages.

Link is propped up against a fallen log, across the embers of the fire. He squints at Sheik in the darkness, but otherwise doesn’t say a word. He’s wrapped up in a cloak, and upon sitting up from his bedroll and blankets, Sheik shivers. The air is cool here, damp and drizzly and wet, clinging to everything, seeping into the warmth of their skin. He pulls his knees up and throws one of the blankets around his shoulders, peering out into the early morning fog.

“‘S quiet,” Link murmurs, “only the birds out there.”

“It’s early yet,” Sheik whispers back. The sun is barely peeking up over the horizon, but already Sheik can see the drizzle of the day, gray and lifeless.

“What did you dream about?” Link asks. He prods at the fire with a stick. The embers flare up with the motion. Sheik stares at their light.

“Water, I think,” he answers, muttering into his knees. He doesn’t particularly remember the dream, but the cold, the damp, the slow rain of the day seems to prompt some memory in his mind.

Link huffs out a laugh, and prods the fire a little more. “We’re in the right place for water,” he says. Sheik nods, a faint smile on his mouth. He doesn’t have it in him to explain the water was drowning him.

 

“They’re very isolated,” Sheik says, scrambling up another slippery rock, “the Zora, I mean. Look how far we are from any other settlement.”

Link holds out his hand and hauls Sheik up the water-slick outcropping. He peers out into the distance, over rolling hills and green swamps, the terrain they’d traipsed just to get this far. “They are,” Link agrees quietly. “Lots of monsters out here, though. Bad stuff.”

“Well, there has been for years, hasn’t there? Were there monsters roaming before the Calamity, do you remember?”

“Maybe. Don’t remember if it was this many.”

Sheik frowns, letting Link help him over another patch of slippery rocks. Something about the gray-dawning day, perhaps, or the lackluster weather, has put Link in a mood. He’s been uneasy since it was light enough to see, quiet and reserved and pensive, much like how he’d been when Sheik had first woken in the mountains. Like he was unsure, skittish. Sheik tries not to let it bother him, but Link’s uneasiness makes him tense. Whatever Link’s waiting for, Sheik catches himself trying to brace for as well.

He skids on a stone, but manages to catch himself and scramble to the top of the outcropping. The drizzle has turned into cold rain, fat drops pelting over their cloaks and soaking into the fabric, numbing their fingertips.

The gray weather has a significant effect on Sheik’s first impression of the Domain. There’s a bridge before them, an elegant piece of work. Luminous lights glow like fireflies in the rocks and the stonework. The grass is lush and green, the water deep blue, but the gray overcast turns everything dull and dreary, tarnishing the magnificence of the Zora’s handiwork. “It’d be very beautiful, I imagine, if everything weren’t soaking wet,” he says.

“The Zora probably like it,” Link says, a wry grin pursed on his mouth. Sheik beams at the trickle of humor, the first that’d escaped from Link in days.

“They probably do,” he answers cheerfully. He promptly manages to skid on gravel in his next step, almost falling flat to his face if not for his grip on Link’s arm. He looks down at the ground, and scuffs his boot curiously against the rock. “Is this– ice?” he says, the realization hitting him suddenly.

Link frowns and scuffs his boot in a similar manner. “I didn’t realize,” he says, then looks up.

Sheik follows suit and peers into the fog. It’s sporadic, but snow falls with the rain. “Is the Domain freezing?” Sheik wonders aloud, then glances to the river. It’s a slow moving thing, but it moves yet, even if frost has gathered at the edges where water meets land.

“Better keep going,” Link says. Sheik nods in agreement, and follows along.

“It’s very–” Sheik starts, after a few moments of silent walking, “-still. Quiet. I was expecting more life, I suppose. More animals, not all this cold gray.”

Link nods in agreement, but it’s an absent motion, like his attention is caught somewhere further along the path. Sheik tries to soften his steps and attune his hearing, but all he can catch is the sound of the rain and the water. Whatever Link’s focused on is not something Sheik is privy to. Trusting Link is the best he can manage, at least for now.

Link comes to an abrupt stop on the rough path they’re following. Sheik nearly walks into him, but stops short as Link raises a hand and stands perfectly still. Sheik strains to listen, to hear what it is that has Link on alert, but Link’s hearing is almost canine in its sharpness. 

“There’s something ahead,” Link whispers. Sheik barely hears him over the sound of the rain, but it still makes him straighten, a hand creeping for the knife beneath his cloak. “Like...fighting,” Link goes on.

“Animals?” Sheik asks. “Or, monsters squabbling?”

Link shakes his head slowly. He takes one creeping step forward, and then another. The sound of the rain, as irritating as Sheik finds it, works in their favor, disguising the sound of their slow steps. The path takes on a curve ahead. It offers a bit of protection as they come around the corner, but it also blinds them to any danger that they may come upon. They stick close together, Link picking his way forward carefully, Sheik behind him. They both have weapons close to hand, a chipped but solid dagger, a slender knife, bows, arrows, poised for easy use if necessary.

Link stops as the path begins to straighten. He leans forward, bracing himself on one of the jagged boulders scattered beside the path and peers around the corner. Sheik waits behind him, hardly daring to breathe as he strains his ears, trying to pick up any snatch of noise. Link shuffles a little further down the path, pausing to listen, moving again. At the sound of a splash even Sheik can hear, Link freezes, holding perfectly still for an instant, before he rushes backwards.

Sheik can’t even open his mouth in question before a huge creature barrels down the path towards them, splattered with steaming blood. Sheik’s knife is out on instinct, held defensively in front of him. Link draws his jagged knife beside him. The huge creature doesn’t even seem to notice their blades, too caught in its curiosity.

“Hylians?” it says. Sheik is perplexed by the sound of its voice; its features are humanoid, but he wouldn’t have expected a clear voice from something with such sharp teeth and wicked claws.

“No,” the creature continues, peering curiously at Sheik, “I am mistaken, for you are Sheikah, are you not?”

Sheik frowns. Beside him, Link shifts, gripping the handle of his blade a little tighter. The creature doesn’t seem to notice the nervous twitch of their fingers, instead ducking down and staring at their faces. “A Hylian and a Sheikah make strange travel companions, but perhaps not the strangest. I apologize for my bold assumption. I would be happy to welcome you to our Domain, but I fear we are in the midst of a problem. Have you come to assist us?” the creature asks, its eyes widening into earnest curiosity.

“Assist?” Link manages to wheeze out. At least Sheik isn’t the only one completely taken off guard here.

“Yes!” the creature replies. “Our Domain is overrun with monsters. My warriors and I can’t keep the paths clear on our own.” It gestures to the path behind it. Sheik peeks around it, grimacing at the blood splattered in crimson streaks on the ground, the headless corpses of Lizalfos scattered about. More of the creatures, what Sheik supposes must be Zora, pick over the bodies, carefully glancing in his and Link’s direction.

“We seek out the counsel of the King of the Zora,” Link answers. Sheik finds him to be rather brave; under the bright, sharp gaze of this massive Zora, Sheik finds his voice to have been sealed behind his teeth.

“And what purpose would those such as yourselves seek the counsel of King Dorephan?” the Zora asks. The playful energy from just a moment ago is gone, and even the Zora standing further up the path have straightened. Sheik doesn’t miss the way their grips on their spears tighten.

“We seek the Divine Beast,” Link says. The tension in the group shifts once again, to stunned surprise.

“The Divine Beast? You know of our hardship?” The Zora stares at Link, but he’s rendered speechless, his mouth falling open and working over his words. “The Beast has remained dormant until a few months ago, and now it floods the Domain with water and ice, a cold grip we cannot break. My father told me that a Hylian of old was once a Champion in this land; stories upon stories he’d tell me, of the deeds of the Champion. I grew up fascinated, enthralled by these tales, and ever since the Beast woke, I passed my prayers on to the Goddess that this Champion would return to us. But that is the fancy of a child at heart, for the time of the Champions is a century past. Still,” the Zora says, eyeing Link with a scrutinizing glance, “perhaps you are still willing to help my people. We will accompany you and your companion to the Domain, and seek an audience with my father.”

“Father?” Link says, his sense finally wrestled to the forefront of his mind. “Who is your father? Who are _you?”_

At that, the Zora grins, a mouth full of sharp white teeth gleaming in the dull light. “I am Sidon,” he says, “Prince of the Zora.”

 

The Zora had all found it quite amusing the way Sheik nearly fell over himself to appropriately address the Prince of the Zora, dragging Link down with him into an imitation of a courtly bow. Sidon had assured them it was quite alright, that he rather appreciated the casual camaraderie from those who didn't know of his birthright. Good-natured and excitable, the Prince, even as he wiped congealed blood off his skin.

“I hate to do it,” Sidon had explained, and he did look remorseful, “but they're so invasive, and it's dangerous for anyone who tries to reach the Domain, not that there's been much travel as of late.”

Very chatty, too, Sheik finds, as they go along. Some of the Zora in Sidon’s party take to the river, some scatter ahead. One remains behind and keeps a close eye on Sheik and Link, but Sidon hardy notices, happy enough to give them both a long, thorough, but fascinating history of the kingdom. Sheik’s burning curiosity is released the longer Sidon talks, and question after question spills out of him.

“It's freezing?” he asks.

Sidon nods, his face falling grimly. “You feel the rain, do you not? It's hard, little bits of ice. The air grows colder and our rivers along with it. We may be an aquatic species but even we cannot survive forever in the cold. The river is a hard journey, and I fear it's only a matter of time before it becomes an impossible travel route.”

“And the reservoir is rising,” Link mutters.

Sidon nods. “It grows deeper every day. Truly, we are at our wits’ end. I fear there is very little we can do. But the Goddess has answered our prayers!” He turns to Link with a brilliant grin, looking like he’s barely able to restrain himself from shaking Link’s hand a hundred times over.

“I don’t know if there will be much I can do,” Link says, eyes averted. His cheeks are red, touched by the cold as well as embarrassment. Sheik grins into the side of his cloak.

“Nonsense!” Sidon booms. “I have the utmost faith in you, my friend. Oh, careful here!” Sheik catches himself on Sidon’s extended arm just as his feet slip from beneath him. His heart pounds thunderously in his chest from the prospect of falling, but he steadies himself and carefully steps over the patch of ice. “Treacherous,” Sidon says. He smiles brightly at Sheik, his arm steady and unyielding until Sheik is able to right himself. “Be careful, Master Sheikah. If you step too far, you’ll fall right into the river!”

“Hah, yes,” Sheik says. He eyes the edge of the cliff; if he’s careful, he should be safe enough, but the river crashes through its route, an ominous warning should his feet slip again.

“We have a ways to go, I’m afraid,” Sidon goes on to say. “It is a long and winding path. It may take us the rest of the afternoon. But, if the weather remains as it is, it may be of aid to us. The monsters hate this weather as much as we do!” He speaks so cheerfully about everything, Sheik can’t help but find it amusing. He glances over at Link, spotting the amused expression in the soft lines of his face as well. The friendliness that Sidon lavishes upon both of them is welcome, especially after the long days they spent amongst the Gerudo, who barely trusted one another.

“You say the monsters hate this weather?” Sheik asks.

“Oh, yes,” Sidon agrees emphatically. “We hardly see any of them on these gray, cold days.”  
  
“Do they hide away?”

Sidon looks towards Sheik, like a thought has just occurred to him. “You mean, like a hideout, perhaps?”

“A hideout, a den, an encampment,” Sheik says, waving his hand as he lists the options.

“Somewhere they can hole up,” Link says, “when the weather’s bad, or if they’re sleeping.”

“Exactly,” Sheik answers. “Somewhere they can group together for whatever reason. Store supplies or weapons or food. Plan their courses of action.”

Sidon hums between the both of them, one clawed hand curling around his chin in thought. “I did not think of such a thing,” he says, “but it makes perfect sense. It explains why more of them seem to spring up out of the ground. We’ve been battling these creatures for months, and yet there never seems to be an end to them.”

“They must have some hideaway,” Sheik says, “somewhere close enough that they can continue to plague your lands, and yet far enough that they have yet to be discovered. They could funnel recruits in and out quite easily, I’d imagine.”

“Yes,” Sidon agrees. “You make an excellent point, Master Sheikah. I will have my warriors look into it shortly. We shall begin a search for this hideaway!”

Sheik nods, but something about the river distracts him. He stops walking, careful to choose a grassy spot that isn’t slippery, and stares over the water. He strains his ears, but he can’t hear anything over the rushing roar. Still, even if he’s confirmed that there is nothing there, not even a Zora, he can’t shake an undefined, uneasy feeling that something lurks nearby.

“Sheik?” Link calls. “Everything alright?”

“Is something the matter, Master Sheikah?” Sidon chimes in.

Sheik turns his head, but doesn’t quite look away from the river. “Nothing,” he calls back softly. He clears his throat and blinks his eyes a few times, finally tearing his eyes away from the water. “It’s nothing,” he calls back, “just a feeling. The sound of the water is so loud, I just thought I heard something.”

Link nods, staring at the river. Sheik knows he's listening for whatever mysterious sound piqued Sheik’s sense of unease. If anyone can pinpoint a noise over the sound of the river, it's Link. But, after a moment, Link frowns and shrugs. Sheik nods and turns to follow behind Link and the Prince, but his sense of alertness is not put to rest. He skids on a bit of ice, and carefully picks his way back towards the rough path cut between the boulders, only, his ankle is caught. His feet are torn from beneath him before he even has a chance to see what has tangled him so, and he doesn't have the sense or the time to shout, before his chin slams down on the ground and he's yanked backwards.

Plunging into the ice-frosted water completely steals the breath from his lungs. The water is so cold he goes completely numb in an instant. Even his mind feels sluggish, slipping straight into panic mode as he tries to free his legs. Something is still caught on his ankle, although he can't see what. The water is pitch black and lends no favors to seeing the surroundings. A bubble of air slips between Sheik’s lips, and then a whole host of them burst forth, as he madly kicks his legs, a desperate attempt to free himself, to get above water at least. He thrashes and twists, but whatever has him by the ankle holds fast, pulling him deeper into the water.

He's unaware of falling unconscious until he opens his eyes. A frantic face hovers over his, fading in and out of view as his eyes slip closed, open, closed. He's unaware of anything else except that face and the soft, faded sound of a voice, like it's speaking to him through a dream. He can hear the noise but he can't make out the words. He doesn't mind, much; he's very tired, and he'd like to fall back to sleep.

“-can’t… awake… ay… ake… eik, Sheik, stay awake!”

Sheik inhales a great, shuddering breath, but it sputters out halfway through. He's shivering so violently his teeth clack together, gasping for breath like a fish on land.

“Sidon!” Link hollers over his shoulder. “He's awake!” Link turns his attention back to Sheik, his eyes wide and crystal blue, even in this dreary weather. “You got pulled into the river,” he says softly, “by a Lizalfos. Sidon dove in after you and pulled you out.”

Sheik tries to open his mouth to speak, but the only sound he can force out is a gurgled grunt. It feels like the river is inside him, like it's flowing through his veins and bubbling through his airways as if it belonged there. Gentle hands are tipping him on his side, and all at once the river bursts out of his mouth, coughed and sputtered and vomited up from the depths of his innards. It's a miserable process, but it does make it the slightest bit easier to breathe, now that most of the water is out of his throat.

“You inhaled a lot of water,” a soft voice says from behind. He feels the large hands bracing him to his side shift, smoothing under the bundle of damp fabric he's just realizing he's wrapped in and pressing along his ribcage. Sheik gasps brokenly as a sharp, stabbing pain shoots up from his side and seems to electrify every never in his body. “Your lung is punctured,” the same soft voice tells him. Dizzily Sheik pieces together his thoughts; it makes sense, given the wheezing and the way he feels he can't get a breath. He's carefully moved again, so his head is propped upright and cushioned by something. Sidon looks down on him with grave concern, and Sheik struggles to keep his eyes open. His entire body feels numb, and Sheik can feel himself sinking back down into the velvety cocoon of quiet it offers.

He comes to again when a sharp pain zigzags up his side, what's probably only seconds later. A wheezing breath filters through his mouth, laced with a grunt of pain, but he's too tired to do anything about it. He lets himself be lifted and curled close against a broad chest. From the corner of his eye he spots Link hovering, a crease of worry between his brows. If Link is beside him, then who–

“We have to move,” Sidon says. Sheik can hear his voice rumbling through his chest. “We need to get you to the healers immediately. I am afraid my skills in healing have never amounted to much, and if we do not get your wound tended properly, I fear permanent damage.” Sheik can't summon the strength to say anything. His body still quivers with uncontrollable shaking, and his lungs still feel like they’re gurgling, like a breath of water is mixed in with the air he struggles to inhale. “Link, go ahead with my warriors.”

“I can’t leave him behind.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’ll follow shortly behind you, but I’m asking for your help in clearing a path. We have an afternoon’s journey ahead of us, and your friend needs attention as swiftly as possible. We cannot linger in arguments and hesitation.”

There is a heartbeat of stillness, and then the sound of footsteps crunching on the ground, punctuating the rush of the river. Sheik’s limp body is shifted. He opens his weary eyes just as Sidon moves forward. It feels strange to be carried so, cradled like a blossom, but he’s too tired to contemplate it, his body drained of energy.

“Be strong,” Sidon whispers to him. Sheik tries to make some noise of acknowledgment, but his eyes slip shut before he can.

 

“...you awake?”

Sensation is slowly approaching him, like light at dawn. There is something on his hand, something over his shoulders, something digging into his back. His cheeks are cold, it hurts to breathe–

Link is hovering in front of him when his eyes slide open. He’s surrounded by gray, wet rock, a tiny alcove along the path. Beyond the protection of the alcove, rain comes down in sheets.

“It started raining,” Link explains. Sheik feels a twitch on his hand and looks down. Link’s fingers curl around his own. “The Zora have gone ahead. They’re waiting to see if the rain’ll let up.”

“Why?” Sheik manages to croak out.

“It’s harder to hear the monsters,” Link says, “and you have to stay warm. Sidon wanted me to start a fire, but everything is soaked.”

Sheik scoffs, but it soon turns into a weak coughing fit. There’s a whistling in the back of his throat, something that won’t go away no matter how many times he tries to clear his throat. Link has a hand on his shoulder, unsure of how to help, but desperate to comfort. Sheik swallows down his coughs and does his best to appear fine.

“I think they’ll be back soon,” Link says. “They’ve been gone for a while.”

“How much further?” Sheik manages to murmur.

“A few more hours, I think. One of the other Zora said we were making good time, but then the rain started in earnest, and Sidon wanted to stop. He seems–” Link pauses, and looks away, as if he’s making sure Sidon won’t appear out of nowhere. “He seems nervous,” Link says lowly.

That draws a scoff out of Sheik. “I’m not worth worrying over,” he mumbles. He tries to emphasize the point by sitting up, the uncomfortable pressure of rocks digging into his back dissipating as he leans forward. Link watches him with a concerned, yet amused wrinkle over his forehead.

“We shouldn’t be wasting time here,” Sheik says, even though he wants nothing more than to fall back into sleep. He tries to get his feet beneath him, so he can get out of this soggy little alcove, but his limbs won’t quite cooperate.

“I don’t think you’ll be getting very far on your own,” Link tells him. His hands are gentle on Sheik’s shoulders, not pressuring but guiding him into a more comfortable position. “The path is slippery from the rain, too. You don’t need another fall.”

Sheik coughs out a laugh at the wry touch of humor. His stubbornness would drive him to his feet, injuries be damned, but he knows Link is right.

“Here they come,” Link says. Sheik peers out into the rain and sees the same flashes of bright color Link has spotted. The Zora huddle around the little alcove, water dripping off their scales. unbothered by the weather.

“The rain hasn’t let up in a half hour,” one of them says. “We can’t stay here forever, or your friend–”

“We’ll move on,” Sidon says, cutting off the warrior with a gesture of his hand. He kneels in front of the alcove and ducks his head into the space. “It is good that you are awake,” he tells Sheik, “but there is a long journey still in front of us.”

Sheik nods in understanding, and allows Link to help maneuver him from the relative dryness of the alcove. He shivers in the rain, the two cloaks he’s wrapped up in both damp already. Being conscious and scooped into Sidon’s arms is a little embarrassing, but putting up a fuss when he’s in no condition to do so would be even more embarrassing. “Three of you go ahead,” Sidon says. “Link, would you be so gracious as to accompany my warriors again?”

There’s no argument, but Link hesitates, shouldering his pack and drawing his bow. He casts a single long look over his shoulder, before he turns and trails behind the Zora scattering onward over the path. One of the warriors lingers behind with Sidon, twirling a spear in hand.

“We'll move carefully, but quickly,” Sidon says. Sheik winces when Sidon shifts him, the pain in his side flaring up and choking the breath out of him. But he keeps silent, biting his tongue and trying to tug the cloaks closer around his body. “Dunma, pace ahead of us. I’ll mind the rear.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Sheik grunts softly when Sidon starts walking. “And to you, Master Sheikah, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to hold on a little while longer,” Sidon says. “The rain was not unexpected, but it was unfortunate, as it’s slowed down our progress.”

“Shouldn’t have stopped,” Sheik murmurs.

“We must keep you warm. The cold has taken even some of us.”

“Take more than a bit of cold to kill me.”

A slow smile quirks over Sidon’s mouth. “I have not met many of your kind, my friend, but your stubbornness is legendary. I am glad to have witnessed it in person.”

Sheik frowns. Comprehension is not his strong suit at the moment, so his brain stumbles over Sidon’s meaning like a helpless fish on land. “You’re strange,” Sheik finally settles on.

Sidon laughs. “I believe the same could be said for you, Sheikah. You and your companion both. But I do not mind in the slightest, for us strange ones should stick together. It makes life more interesting, don’t you think?”

There’s a spot of blood on the corner of Sidon’s mouth, a dark gleam of ruby red that has caught Sheik’s attention. He can’t help but watch Sidon’s teeth as he speaks, the wicked points gleaming white and dangerous every time he opens his mouth. Strange indeed, that they had managed to befriend a creature who is so obviously a predator, a gentle soul who could easily take care of the problems of his kingdom, if not for an exploitable weakness.

It is strange, as well, that Sheik does not feel fear, here in the clutches of such a predator. He feels gentleness, and empathy, and kindness, a selfless concern for that of his kingdom and strangers he’d only met a few hours earlier. It’s a kindness he’s found to be rare throughout Hyrule. Most accept Link without hesitation, but eye him warily, with suspicion or curiosity or outright mistrust. He’s come to brush it off easily enough if mostly for Link’s sake; Link prickles whenever someone so much as sneezed in Sheik’s direction, and as good-natured as he tends to be, he’s still young, younger than himself, Sheik suspects. His temperament is that of an adolescent’s. But here, his breathing ragged and wet, his body quivering in the cold rain, Sheik feels secure, as if his heritage didn’t create an image of his personality.

“Can you speak, Sheikah?” Sidon asks.

Sheik blinks slowly, shaking himself out of his wandering thoughts. “Yes?” he tries. It hurts a bit, but it’s bearable, the pain in his side growing numb by the minute.

“You should stay awake,” Sidon says. “Tell me of your journey, if you can.”

“Not much to tell,” Sheik rasps out. His eyes feel so heavy, but he pries them open and thinks. “I woke up. In the mountains.”

“The mountains? Of Hebra?”

“Link found me,” Sheik says, “in a cave. I was asleep for a century.”

“How–?”

“He was asleep, too,” Sheik slurs. He squints sleepily. “Something woke him up.”

“Who put you there? How did you survive?”

“Don’ know. Maybe the Goddesses. Maybe those who wanted us dead.”

Sidon falls silent. Sheik blinks once, twice, shaking the weariness out of his head. He wheezes when he inhales; perhaps speaking hadn’t been the best course of action. But that’s him– ignoring his best interests until it nearly kills him.

“I’ve heard of such a legend,” Sidon says lowly, after a beat, “of warriors put to sleep for years, in order to heal or to preserve them, in a way. To be called upon again in the future. I assumed they were just legends, however, just tall tales passed down from grandfathers to their bright-eyed grandchildren. But what you’re describing– it happened to you?”

Sheik nods.

“Incredible. I suppose the legends originate from some seed of truth. Perhaps those grandfathers did not exaggerate their tales, after all. My father will be most interested to hear this.”

“No,” Sheik says, an urgency thrumming through him, “do not speak of it. Please.” He doesn’t know why it’s so important that this remains secret, but he’s almost desperate to hear Sidon’s promise to remain silent. “I shouldn’t have said anything, but please. Don’t spread this.”

“Very well, Sheikah,” Sidon says skeptically. “I will not breathe a word of it. Although I’m most curious.”

“Don’t call me ‘Sheikah,’” Sheik says.

“Oh,” Sidon answers, “I apologize.”

His chest aches when he takes a breath, but he pushes on. “I can’t remember my name. They are important to us, our names, but I can’t remember. Link gave me a new one. Please, call me Sheik.”

“‘Shadow,’” Sidon muses aloud. “A suitable name, I think.”

Sheik’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “You know of our language?”

“I’ve studied it. Not too much, mind you; it’s rather difficult to come across any of your texts, but I have studied what I could find. Perhaps, when you are well, you can broaden my knowledge. But, ah! I should not have pushed you to speak so much. I can tell you are in pain. Let me talk instead, Sheik. Keep your eyes open, yes? I know you are weary, but I fear complications if you sleep now.”

So Sheik does his best to follow Sidon’s idle chatter. His eyes are so heavy, but he fights against the consuming desire to nod off and tries to focus on Sidon’s stories. They seem wandering, pieces of thoughts that pop into Sidon’s mind, but the abrupt switch in narration helps keep Sheik occupied, engaging just enough of his brain that the urge to sleep is a bit easier to fight off.

They continue this way for quite a while, Sidon talking and Sheik listening, until Sidon stops abruptly.

“Sheik,” he whispers, “I fear we have met trouble.”

Sheik tries to sit up, but Sidon shifts him, gently lowering him to the ground. His legs wobble, but he braces himself against slick stones and manages to stand upright. Ahead on the path, the Zora that had gone ahead, Dunma, her name was, lies still, face down in the wet ground. Sidon approaches her slowly. Sheik notices then that Sidon carries no weapon, and thinks of blood on his teeth.

Sidon kneels quickly and rests a hand on her back. He seems to listen intently for a moment, whether for breathing or her heartbeat, or something else, Sheik couldn’t be sure. He stands after a moment, carefully approaching the boulders that line the path, creeping along the curve of the trail slowly. Sheik peers into the fog, picking out the faintest of sparks, just before Sidon leaps back with a cry.

There’s a cackle over the sound of the rain, and then a volley of electricity shooting down from the sky. Sidon just barely manages to dodge the bolts, ducking behind an outcropping in the nick of time. Sheik’s grip on the rock beside him slips, and his knees nearly buckle and send him to the ground, but he manages to steady himself, tucking his body a little bit further against the stone face. His mind is whirling; if there’s an enemy of some sort before them, what became of Link and the others? Did they miss this creature, or did they befall fates similar to Dunma? Sheik searches the ground frantically, but his vision is limited by his position and the lack of visibility.

A break in the bolts of lightning comes, another cackling laugh riding the wind. Sidon takes advantage of the break, and darts forward to Dunma’s body, his strong hands grabbing her arms and flinging her bodily over his shoulder. It’s by no means graceful, and Sheik’s breath catches painfully in his throat. He has no idea if the poor Zora is still alive, if Sidon is merely hauling a dead body off the path, nor does Sheik know when the next volley will come. He knows the Zora in particular are susceptible to electrical attacks; Sidon mentioned it when he coerced Link of his assistance. Link agreed readily, even if his hand did wander to the front of his tunic, resting briefly over those white scars on his chest, where the Blight dwelling inside Vah Naboris had plagued his body. Sheik doesn’t want to think about the effect one of these attacks would have on a Zora.

He swallows, and takes a shaky step forward. His cloak is soaked through, heavy and dragging across the muddy ground. His fingers and toes are numb, his hands and feet quickly following suit, but he forces himself forward. The motion of movement jostles the wound in his side, so that a sharp pain shoots up his ribcage. When he breathes, his lungs move like there’s a hook caught in them, keeping him from getting a full breath, but he pushes forward as quickly as he can.

“Sheik!” Sidon calls from across the path. Sheik ignores him, even as his vision swims for a moment. Being upright is a monumental task, and he’s feeling it more and more by the second, but he refuses to fall here, to lay helplessly to the side while the kind Zora who’s helped him so much in such a short amount of time takes responsibility for a foolish action on his own. Sheik pants as he collapses against the rocks Sidon has just been hiding behind. He peers around the corner of the stone, and spots the mischievous creature who’d attacked Sidon– a giggling Wizzrobe, swinging a sparking rod around as it hops in a circle through the air. Sheik ducks back behind the stone and considers his options. He has no weapons; he may have lost his knife in the river, or Link took them all, and Sheik’s pack as well. He can’t move fast enough to ambush it. There are plenty of rocks to throw, but he doubts he has the strength for that. Unbidden, thoughts of the desert come to him, of the hideout that held so many secrets, of an ending to the Yigas’ so-called master. Sheik’s stomach turns as he recalls that feeling, of the darkness welling up inside him, but something about that rush of power is appealing.

Sheik inhales, sputtering as his breath stops short. He tries to calm his frantic mind, to remember that sensation, like he was pulling something from the depths of his memory. He feels the crevices of his mind crack and splinter, the black gaps of memory expanding until it covers the entirety of his thoughts. He turns around, swaying violently as he does so, and finds the Wizzrobe through bleary eyes. It’s stopped its dancing circle, and looks curiously in his direction, like it can sense the well of energy beginning to spark in Sheik’s fingertips. Sheik wheezes, each breath truly a struggle, but he extends a shaking hand towards the monster, and watches as a black shadow pools beneath it. The creature looks about, confused at this sudden appearance, but it’s too late. The shadow engulfs it, swallowing its energy and mad cackles in an instant, leaving behind only a smoking pit in the path.

“Sheik!”

Pounding footsteps splash through the muddy ground. Sheik drops his hand, and lurches forward.

“What did you do?” Sidon asks, frantically clutching Sheik’s limp body as he sinks towards the ground.

“Can’t– breathe–” Sheik manages to gasp out. He claws at his throat as something hot trickles across his ribs, soaking into the cold, damp cloth of the cloak hanging around his frame.

“Oh, Sheik, no, no! Goddess above, hang in there, Sheik! No, stay awake! _Sheik!”_

 

_Oh, my little one. Look at you. You look like your sister, when I held her like this years ago. Oh, I wonder if you’ll grow up to look like me? She’s grown already, and she looks like her father. Strong and noble. A warrior. She’ll lead our people to greatness. Oh, Goddesses, do I miss him. I wish things were different, my little one, my little bird. Yes, my little bird, my little_ évra. _You have a song to sing, a tale to tell the world. My Sight has told me so. My sweet one, my song bird._

There are tears in his eyes when he wakes up. Whatever distant voice he dreamed of is maddeningly familiar, a gentle presence like the cradle of a mother’s arms, and it pulls hard on his heart.

The sound of the river is a low and distant rush. The air is cool and sweet, comfortable and vibrant with the taste of life. Sheik wipes his eyes, and stares up at a shimmering blue ceiling sparkling with reflections of light. It’s very pretty, and he feels a sense of peace wash over him, absorbing the steady rush of noise and the gentle flicker of light, until he realizes he has no idea where he is.

Feeling is only just beginning to creep back into his limbs. He reigns in his panicked breaths, forcing them back into imitation of slumber, until he can twitch his fingers and stretch his toes. He’s not bound, as far as he can tell, but he can’t sense the presence of a weapon, and that is worrisome. He cranes his neck slowly, trying to peer around the room he’s in, but the bed he lies upon is low, almost like a cradle. He can’t see past his pillow without lifting his head, and thus drawing attention to himself.

He settles himself back down and closes his eyes, considering his options. Fight: an unknown number of assailants, with no weapons and probably very limited control of his body. Escape: an unfamiliar building with an unknown number of occupants. Escape would probably be wiser, but not necessarily the easier choice. At least with a fight the end would come to a rapid conclusion.

Sheik is startled out of his thoughts by a clattering, and then the sound of a gasp. He can just see a silvery-blue head over the edge of the bed, a figure that mutters to itself as it works on a table in front of it. Sheik carefully lowers himself down against the pillow and thinks. He shifts his body slightly, trying to get a feel for any injuries, but he's still too sleep-groggy to really get a true sense of self. It's no good if he were to roll himself out of this bed with the intent to disable this creature and fall flat on the floor, but he also can't bear to just lie there anymore. He takes a deep, silent breath to clear his jittering thoughts, one more for good measure, but this turns into his mistake. As air pools into his lungs, a familiar hitching sensation tickles its way up his throat. A cough bursts out of his mouth quite suddenly and quite violently, and it's all he can do to draw breath as he wheezes through the fit.

The silvery-blue head has made its way over to his bed, and looks at him with a gentle concern. When Sheik swallows down the last of the lingering cough, his ribs sore and aching, there are soft hands at his shoulder, helping him sit up and breathe easier.

“Just try to take easy breaths– there you go,” Sheik is told. He does his best to comply with the instructions, wheezing with each inhale, but it does get a little easier, a little less of a struggle. “My name is Maphala,” the Zora says. “I've been watching over you since you were brought to our Domain. Do you remember what happened?”

Sheik shakes his head.

“Our Prince sent word through a messenger, urgent need for a doctor on the trail. My mother left as soon as she heard, and met your companion and a few others, before they turned back. She found you unconscious and hypothermic with our Prince. Yours was a narrow escape, Master Sheikah, but I do believe you'll pull out of this just fine.”

Sheik doesn’t have the words to reply. His mind stalls over _hypothermic_ , _narrow escape._ Maphala presses cool hands to his bare shoulders, and Sheik shudders. “How long–” Sheik says. His voice comes out wispy and sore; he clears his throat and starts over. “How long have I been out?” he asks.

Maphala looks at him from the corner of her eye. “Two days since we found you on the path. Your companion did not leave your side until this morning.” She steps back, but her eyes don’t leave Sheik’s figure. “Please, Master Sheikah, just rest. I will call my mother. She will be happy to see that you’re awake, and take the opportunity to examine your wounds.”

Sheik wants to protest, to slip back into sleep until Link returns, but he recognizes the value in Maphala’s words, and nods his head. She darts out of the room while Sheik tries to shift comfortably on the bed. He presses a careful hand to the side of his ribs, and pain flares up his side. His breath catches in his throat, an awful lump he has to force himself to swallow. He remembers, suddenly, in that blinding instant of pain, his dream, what was it now, just three days ago? The dream that made no sense, not until he was pulled into the river. In the frozen waters nothing was clear. It was like existing in a fog, a bubble he couldn’t escape, even if he tried desperately to pull himself out of that bubble and towards the call of his name. A vision, perhaps, that dream. His Sight had tried to warn him, but he had ignored it, had ignored the uncomfortable sensation that only grew the longer they lingered by the river. The pain in his side is a penance for his foolishness.

“Master Sheikah.”

Sheik looks over his shoulder. Maphala hovers behind another Zora as they both enter the room. “I am Avela. Maphala let me know that you were awake. How do you feel?”

“Sore,” Sheik says after a beat of consideration, “tired.”

Avela nods. “I would expect so, Master Sheikah. You were in bad shape when we found you. The Prince was quite desperate for help.”

Sheik feels a flush of heat across his cheekbones.

“Please, allow me to examine your wounds,” Avela says. “The punctured lung is of great concern.”

Sheik nods, and Avela approaches. He’s dressed in a loose tunic, his hair unbound and tangled against the nape of his neck. Avela helps him sit up, and gently pulls aside the tunic to examine the bandages wrapped around his side. “I’m checking for infection,” Avela tells him, delicately prodding over the bandages. “The Prince told me it was a Lizalfos that dragged you into the river. Some of them are poisonous, but all of them are filthy. We must make sure the wound is healing correctly, or else you’ll be in for a much longer recovery.”

Her hands are cool against Sheik’s skin as she unwraps the bandages. Sheik glances down at the ugly gash in his side, but soon turns away as his stomach lurches.

“The stitches are holding,” Avela says. “Maphala, fetch me the poultice.” Maphala scrambles to do so, and Avela applies a cool paste to the wound. Sheik shudders at the sudden sensation, but the poultice is numbing, and the sting of pain slowly fades. Avela wraps him with clean bandages, and adjusts the tunic. “Can you stand?” Avela asks. “You should eat, and I’d like you to stretch your limbs a bit.”

She helps Sheik swing his legs over the edge of the bed, and between herself and Maphala, he manages to stand on shaky legs. He feels weak, wrung out, but capable, or at least determined to be. They help him hobble out of the room and into a glittering hallway. Sheik’s never seen craftsmanship like that of the Zora, and the sleep slowly drains out of his head as he looks around.

“Your companion was quite curious, as well,” Maphala tells him with a coy smile.

Sheik tears his eyes away from the patterned ceiling and stares at her with wide eyes. “Was he?” he wonders aloud, although he can picture it perfectly. Link, staring around this place, eyes wide as saucers, running his fingers over the stonework.

“He was worried for you,” Maphala goes on to say.

“He worries too much for me.”

“Perhaps,” she answers, “but I do not think that is a bad thing, to have someone to worry for you.”

Sheik does not answer, instead concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Maphala’s mouth curls into a smile, but he ignores her. She and Avela help him make a loop around the hallway, then back to his room. He lowers himself into a chair with a grateful sigh.

“We’ll get you something to eat,” Avela says. “You did well. Your stubbornness is an attribute.”

“Not many would say that,” Sheik answers, although he smiles a little. “Can I take a bath?” he inquires.

“Not for another day or so,” Avela answers. “The wound in your side needs more time to heal.” Sheik slumps in his seat. “Although,” she concedes, “perhaps Maphala can help you wash your hair.”

Sheik perks up a bit. The tangled mess of hair hangs around his shoulders in curly knots, and he longs to work the twists out of it. He glances towards Maphala, who stares at him with wide eyes. Considering the Zora and their lack of hair, this may be the first time she’s ever encountered it.

“I would appreciate that,” Sheik says. Maphala nods eagerly.

“But first, food,” Avela says with authority.

Sheik nods, not daring to argue with her.

 

Maphala is so enthusiastic about helping with his hair that the activity turns into a fun little experience. Sheik sifts through potions and tonics while Maphala rattles off each item’s use, trying to determine if these would be at all helpful in his hair. The Zora have a great aptitude for medicine, Sheik soon discovers, eyeing a collection of bottles he’s placed to the side.

Maphala is delighted to dart back and forth, fetching a basin, a pitcher full of water, a piece of sturdy cotton. Combs are not a feature in Zora culture, so he begins to untangle the snarls with his fingers, until Maphala improvises and brings him fish bones that work surprisingly well. When he has most of the knots worked out and is more or less comfortably positioned over the basin, his hair a golden spill in the water, Maphala assists almost reverently. She works lotus oil through his hair gently, and after a few moments of tense anticipation of unfamiliar hands pulling too roughly, Sheik relaxes. He feels dozy and warm, like he’s floating on a wave.

All too soon, Maphala is twisting the water out of his hair, rousing Sheik from his doze. She helps him wrap the cotton around his hair, then sets about putting away the bottles and the basin and the other little things she had dragged out.

“It’s so soft,” she tells him eagerly, when she returns.

He unwraps the cotton and shakes his hair loose. “I haven’t much time nor opportunity to care for it,” he says. “I’ve considered cutting it short–”

“No!” Maphala cries. “It’s so lovely!”

He smiles at her honesty. “I don’t think I could bear to,” he tells her, “even if it would be more convenient. I’m rather attached to it.”

Maphala nods, her eyes still following the motions of his fingers as he combs through his wet hair. Her fascination is somewhat flattering; it makes Sheik feel very vain and silly, flicking the long, damp rope of his braid to and fro, like a pony with new flowers woven into its mane.

The fun, however, does not last forever. Soon he feels himself grow genuinely tired, a weariness settling into the depth of his bones. Maphala helps him back to his bed, and as she fusses about the room, he nods off quickly. His dreams are empty that night.

He wakes the next morning to a beam of sunlight cutting across his face, the first glimpse of real light amidst the gray drizzle since they had arrived in the Domain a few days prior. He sits up gingerly and peers out of the window. There are still clouds across the sky, but he can see glimpses of soft blue beginning to appear. Something in his heart tells him that Link was successful. The feeling swells, until Sheik actually feels a free sense of hope for the first time since he began this journey with Link.

Sheik slips out of the bed. He wobbles on his feet, but the strength stays with him. He feels more refreshed this morning, more like himself, strong enough to peek out of the door to his room. The hallway is empty and cool, but golden light pours in through the open windows, catching in the flecks of quartz embedded in the stone. Sheik walks slowly, dragging his fingertips along the railing and peering out the windows. There’s quite a view; Sheik had no idea of the Domain’s location, but now that he’s obtained a bit of perspective, the height is almost dizzying. Waterfalls trickle from above, and he can see bits of massive carvings that look like they’re within the structure of the Domain itself. It’s a shame really, that they will be moving on so soon.

Sheik is so startled by the thought that he stops abruptly in the hall. He knows of the gravity of Link’s mission, and he himself has nearly sworn his fealty to Link in his desire to help him. But resting in the Domain has softened his mind. He feels peaceful in a way he hasn’t in the span of his journey, like his body has finally gotten the chance to properly rest. Given the extent of his injuries, he’s glad of it, but there’s part of him that is enchanted by the Domain, a part of him that longs to stay, to settle into a place that feels as if it could be a home, since his is long forgotten. But then he thinks of Link, of his sapphire eyes, the curl of a hidden smile on his mouth. The gentleness of his hands when he strokes the horses. The slide of his gaze when he thinks Sheik is not aware of his staring. He couldn't abandon the burden to Link, not when he's seen how it weighs Link down so.

Sheik is broken out of his thoughts by the sound of soft footsteps in the hall. Maphala rounds the curve and slows her steps as she approaches Sheik, obviously surprised to see him out of his room on his own, but delighted just the same.

“Have you seen the sun, Master Sheikah?” she asks.

“I have,” he replies. “It has been a long time coming for your Domain, no doubt.”

She nods, unable to keep the smile from her face. “A long time, indeed. But look at you! You rise with the sun as well. Mother will be most pleased to note your progress.”

“I feel much more alive today,” Sheik concedes. “The Zora have a remarkable talent for healing.”

“We have practiced the art for many hundreds of years. Our Princess Mipha–”

Sheik does not miss the stricken look that ripples across Maphala’s face, but he does not comment on it.

“She was an excellent healer. Her brother tried to follow in her footsteps, but he did it have the same knack for it, nor her patience. Still, the knowledge he does have likely saved your life, Master Sheikah.”

The statement fills Sheik with a strange, quivering sensation. He looks away from Maphala, suddenly embarrassed to be caught in her gaze.

“I must be sure to thank him,” Sheik answers, “and all of you. You and your mother especially. You have been nothing  but gracious in my time here. I do not know what I would have done without your kindness.”

It's Maphala's turn to look away, wearing her embarrassment like a veil she can only peek around.

“I am happy to help,” she says, “especially given how distraught your companion was. We are not the type to turn others away, even if we do value our privacy above all else.”

“I thank you for that,” Sheik tells her sincerely. “I owe you a great debt.”

Maphala looks at him with a touch of shyness in her eyes, but it's such a warm, happy thing. She smiles brightly, but ducks her head, tucking everything but the corners of that smile away in privacy.

“We have food, if you'd like to eat,” she tells him.

Sheik’s stomach gives an interested rumble. He presses one hand over it in surprise.

“I think I would,” he says.

Maphala leads the way down the sunny hall, into an open, airy courtyard. Sheik shudders when the cool air curls around his bare skin, but it feels fresh and crisp, not cold and damp.

He eats while Maphala chatters softly, pulling out unfamiliar varieties of fruits, fish, seeds. Sheik nibbles a bit of everything, pleased to find the flavors agreeable.

“I imagine the Prince will return soon,” Maphala says in a quiet moment between words. Sheik looks up abruptly, chewing on a bite of fruit. “The rains have stopped,” she explains with a cheeky smile. “Your companion’s success has saved us.”

Sheik chews slowly. A bout of eagerness has risen in him, now that someone else has voiced the same thoughts he had earlier this morning. “Where did they journey to?” he asks.

“The Divine Beast was rooted in the East Reservoir Lake, but it moved last night. Come look.”

Maphala draws him over to a window facing the dark mountains that loom behind the Zora’s Domain. Towering over everything like an enormous guardian is the Divine Beast, poised in its stillness and power. What a vision it must have been to watch it climb to its plateau.

“Our protector,” Maphala murmurs. Sheik cuts a glance in her direction. She’s mesmerized by the sight of the Divine Beast, but he shivers, a trembling sensation of nerves trickling down his spine, the same uneasiness he felt in the desert.

“Is this the first time you’ve seen the Divine Beast?” Sheik asks her, grasping for some sort of distraction.

But Maphala laughs, and turns away from the window like Sheik’s just asked her a silly question. “All the Zora have made frequent visits to Vah Ruta. Our Princess was its master, and to lay our eyes upon the Beast was considered an act of honor, until the rains started. The Prince forbade any visits since that day. It is comforting to see her at peace now. No doubt our Prince feels the same way.”

Sheik shifts, somewhat uncomfortable. Maphala doesn’t seem to notice, caught up in her visit to the past. She laughs, and shakes her head. “Forgive me, Master Sheikah. I did not mean to bore you with our old traditions.”

“No, please. It’s a...nice tradition.”

“It is, if perhaps old-fashioned and caught in the past. Our elders miss the Princess immensely, I’m afraid. But enough! Mother will want to see you, now that you’re up and fed. You seem much healthier today, Master Sheikah, if I may say so.”

“You may,” Sheik says with a smile. “I feel much healthier as well.”

Maphala leads him out of the room, making easy conversation as Sheik absorbs more sights of the Domain. Avela is found bickering with one of the elders, but she happily breaks away from the argument to examine Sheik’s wounds.

“They appear to be healing nicely,” she says, her cool fingers carefully pushing his clothing away from his ribs. “I believe I can give you permission to bathe, as well.”

She laughs at the way Sheik’s face lights up at the prospect of a bath. Maphala soon joins her, and gleefully gathers an armful of potions and another sturdy piece of cotton. It seems she is insistent on accompanying him. Sheik has no qualms with this. He takes no offense at baring his body, and, he soon learns, bathing is as much a ritual as it is a communal gathering amongst the Zora. As soon as he sinks into a pool of cool water, the few Zora scattered amongst the other pools all stare at him. Maphala helps wash his hair again, delighting just as enthusiastically as she had the night before. Her enthusiasm draws a crowd of little ones to the bright waves of golden hair, and it isn’t long before Maphala has several small assistants. Sheik leaves the bath after a long soak, promising a handful of the little Zora the chance to braid his hair as he twists water out of it. Maphala looks on with such longing that Sheik soon offers her the opportunity as well.

As he settles– cross-legged on the floor, so the young Zora can reach– he is barraged by a constant stream of questions asked in curious voices, and accompanied by wide eyed stares every time he gives an answer.

“Are you Hylian?”

“I am Sheikah.”

“Where do you come from? Do you come from beyond the mountains?”

“Most of the young ones have never left the Domain, Master Sheikah. Every outsider comes from ‘beyond the mountains.’”

“I see.”

“Are you a warrior?”

“I wouldn’t call myself anything beyond a mere traveler.”

“Your hair is _so_ soft!”

“When is Lady Mipha’s Beloved coming back?”

A strange twist pulls in Sheik’s chest at the words. He looks to Maphala in confusion; she’s hushing the little one who had so boldly asked the question.

“They are so curious,” she says, not quite meeting Sheik’s eye, “and the legends their elders tell are the ones they find most fascinating.”

A pair of inexperienced hands pulls sharply on Sheik’s hair, and he winces in response. He is swamped with more questions, Maphala doing her best to maintain some semblance of order.

Eventually, he is released from the baths with a thick braid spilling over with blushing pink and white lotus blossoms. Maphala brings him a fresh set of clothes, a loose tunic and pants woven from pale blue threads. The clothes fit his slender frame better than the garb he was clothed in when he woke up.

He spends the afternoon wandering the Domain, barefoot and carefree. Most of the Zora are interested in his presence, striking up curious conversations with him as he walks by. Some ignore him entirely. But none stop him in his exploration, leaving him free to discover the sparkling elegance of the Domain on his own.

The sun is just beginning to set when Sheik finds a quiet, secluded spot overlooking what must be the East Reservoir Lake Maphala spoke of. He sits down on the smooth balcony, inching closer and closer to the edge of the platform, until he dares to dangle his legs over the sides. The Divine Beast is blessedly out of sight, so Sheik finds himself remarkably relaxed. The waters are calm, sparkling with the golden light of the sun as it sinks below the horizon, and the winds are cool against his skin. It isn’t long before drowsiness settles heavy in his eyes.

He’s so close to sleep, in fact, that when he hears the sound of footsteps behind him, he assumes it must be part of some grand dream. The figure behind him isn’t really Link, just a figment of his own wishful thinking. But as Sheik stares, and as Link stares back, the sunlight fading from the world around them, Sheik realizes just how acutely he can feel the breeze on his skin, the stone beneath his hand, the sound of the water as it sways to and fro. This is no dream, and Link is no imagined being.

 

 

There’s a breeze running through the Domain. Sheik shivers in the night air, the flush on his cheeks not enough to warm him. He drains the last mouthful of his cup and settles his elbows against the railing. He’s kept this post, more or less, throughout the entire evening. Something about the dark glitter of the mountains holds his attention, and he’s not much for parties, anyway. Not when the focus shouldn’t be on him.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding all night,” a familiar voice calls. Speaking of focus…

Sheik glances over his shoulder, a warm smile dancing across his lips. “It was a strategic retreat,” he answers. The edges of the words are soft, not the clear Hylian he usually tries to speak. These words are lazy things, falling from his mouth like droplets of rain.

“May I strategically retreat with you?” Link asks. Sheik doesn’t answer, turning his back with a half-hearted invitation, one that Link readily accepts. He mirrors Sheik’s position against the railing.

“Shouldn’t you be at the center of some ring of praise?” Sheik asks, teasing.

Link huffs, but shifts uneasily. Sheik has to bite down a burst of laughter. Link’s discomfort with ceremony and celebration had been all too evident since the day it was announced there was to be a party of sorts, to lay their Lady Mipha to rest, and to offer their thanks to the Champion for the taming of the Divine Beast.

“Sidon keeps chasing me with compliments. I don’t deserve any of them.”

“He admires you,” Sheik says, staunchly ignoring Link’s on lack of self-confidence. “As did their Princess, I hear.”

At once, the playful, teasing air between the two of them turns sour. Sheik has only heard scraps of gossip about the late Princess, but it was enough to paint a picture of her sweet affections towards Link. Link himself hasn’t addressed any of the rumors or gossip, and Sheik hasn’t pried. Until now. And even this curious prod into a distant past leaves him feeling a heavy weight of guilt over the whole affair.

“Link, I’m sorry,” he says, but Link shakes his head abruptly.

“You’re right,” he explains. “Mipha had some level of...admiration for me. She crafted armor for me, which holds a special sort of significance to the Zora. But, she died within the Beast, and the Calamity rose, and now, here we are.”

The wind whistles a gentle song in the space between them. Sheik admires the fine craftsmanship of the chalice in his hand, weighing Link’s words over in his head.

“It is with good reason the royal heirs place their faith and love within you,” he says. Link scoffs, but Sheik presses on. “Many do. You are kind-hearted, and act as a champion of these people, all that have placed their hopes on you. I do not think that is a bad thing, Link. You accept each heart with tenderness, and it speaks of your vulnerability, but it also speaks of your courage, to carry the weight of so many.”

“You speak many frivolous words,” Link interjects.

“They are not frivolous,” Sheik says, a touch of that smile returning to his face, “only truthful.”

Link has no reply, but Sheik is not content to allow silence to drift over them. His words are truthful, perhaps more than Link realizes, and the thought worms itself to the forefront of Sheik’s mind.

“I have a request,” he whispers to the wind. Link turns his head. “Or, perhaps, a question.”

Sheik pushes away from the rail, one hand gripping the cool stone as he faces Link.

“Would you accept another heart into your burden?” Sheik asks. The words unfold like paper lace, hanging as fragments between them. He watches the way Link’s blue eyes go wide in surprise, the way he turns from the railing to mirror Sheik’s own position once again, the parting of his peach-soft mouth.

“Whose heart?” Link asks softly.

Sheik has a feeling he already knows, given the way that mouth parts for his. But, he is not one to speak frivolous words, not when Link’s mouth is warm on his, his hands strong and steady against Sheik’s waist.

 

“Link, might I have just a moment?”

Sheik turns and watches as Link joins Sidon, the two of them ducking around a corner and disappearing from sight. It isn't long that his curiosity is piqued; the little ones swarm around him with their questions and their searching fingers, wringing the last few scraps of answers and stories out of him before he and Link finally depart the Domain. His hair is braided with fresh blossoms, the young Zora insistent on one last opportunity to touch his hair before departure, and he had not the heart to turn them down. Link didn't stop them, either, finding their eagerness and Sheik’s touch of discomfort to be delightful. And now the sun is warming the sky, their departure prolonged just a little longer.

“Where are you going?” a small voice pipes up.

“The Wetlands,” Sheik answers. Enigmatic enough to satisfy the children’s curiosity without lying outright.

“Will you get hurt again?”

“I certainly hope not.”

“Is the Champion accompanying you?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Will you come back?”

The question tugs at the delicate strings of Sheik’s heart. It would be so easy to abandon their quest and remain in the Domain indefinitely. in the few days he’s spent in recovery, he’s come to feel quite at home in the cool breezes of the Domain.

“I hope to,” he answers honestly. “I would very much like to see your home again.”

This answer seems to satisfy the children, for they scatter from their circle around him. Sheik hides a fond smile, and turns his attention toward Maphala and Avela.

“I cannot express my gratitude enough,” he says to them both with a duck of his head.

“Maintain your health,” Avela says, “and do not go injuring yourself. Your health and wholeness is enough to ease my conscience as you continue on your journey.”

“Of course,” Sheik answers. He can't help the wry smile that imitates Avela’s fond smirk. Maphala stands beside her, putting on the bravest face she can manage. But in the midst of all the excitement teeming in the courtyard, the gloom on her face stands out like a storm cloud.

“I will miss your company,” Sheik tells her. He presses his hand carefully to hers, slipping a bright golden bracelet into her grip. She looks down in confusion, and then up to him in puzzlement.

“Something I hope you will remember me by,” he says, as she takes the bracelet.

“I have nothing to give you in return,” Maphala replies. She looks stricken by the realization, but Sheik smiles and pats the fresh scar beneath his tunic.

“I could never forget you,” he says. “I do not speak lightly when I say I owe you my life. Yours is a presence I will always remember.”

Maphala stares at him with that same glimmer of wonder shimmering in her eyes, like she can't believe the praises he speaks of her. She is young, and Sheik hopes with a touch of nurturing she blossoms.

His attention is drawn to Link returning to the courtyard with a frown creasing his brow, one that drops as soon as he realizes he's being watched. There's a change to him, one that Sheik can't quite put his finger on. Behind him, Sidon looms. His gaze sweeps over the occupants of the courtyard, coming to a stop upon Sheik. There is a heat to his stare, a blaze so intense and so unlike any expression Sheik had encountered in the Prince's bright personality that he's startled into taking a step back.

“You ready to go?” Link asks him. Sheik turns towards him, nodding absently as he struggles to shake that feeling of the Prince's stare.

“Safe travels,” Sidon calls out. “I will come the moment you call me, should you need assistance.” There's a certain softness to it, a particular smile that hides in the corners of Link’s mouth as he raises his hand in farewell towards the Prince. Sheik is given one sharp nod, less intense, but no less out of the ordinary, and to the great many calls of other Zora, they are on their way.


End file.
